


The Deal

by apprenticenanoswarm



Category: Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Godzilla - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 16:48:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20745476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apprenticenanoswarm/pseuds/apprenticenanoswarm
Summary: Slade wants a new trophy.





	The Deal

Dangled over the volcano, Slade reviewed his mistakes.

Overenthusiasm – that had been the big one. An unusual failing for a man who prided himself on reviewing and selecting contracts dispassionately. Logically. This one? Oh, he hadn’t finished reading the damn thing before he’d made the call.

“Going well?” came Wintergreeen’s voice in his ear, polite and inquiring.

Smug prick. Somewhere in the battered city below, he was watching through his binoculars and smiling to himself. Naturally, he’d cautioned against the contract, tried to change Slade’s mind even while Slade was packing his hunting gear and researching the nesting habits of pterodactyls (for all the good THAT had done him).

“Fine. I’ll be another hour. Get my lunch ready,” he replied, feeling his hair catch fire.

“I seem to recall you declaring that you’d be cutting out a lump of the beast’s flesh and eating it raw. Have you decided you’d prefer it cooked?”

Prick.

“Yes. Arrange a grill. Also some beer for me to wash it down with.”

“Very good, sir,” said Wintergreen, silken as a spring breeze.

Slade winced as the gargantuan beak currently gripping his foot and making him feel like a still-twitching insect poking out of a cat’s mouth gripped tighter. If the bird applied just a smidgen more pressure, Slade would plummet sixty feet into churning lava.

Could he survive that? He’d survived being splashed with lava before. He’d once swum through boiling water. Maybe he’d make it.

Hell with that. No way was he gambling with his life for the sake of what he’d, admittedly, known from the start was kind of a stupid mission.

“Uncle!” Deathstroke the Terminator shouted up at Rodan. “You win, you overcooked toucan.”

(Pronouncing Rodan’s ancient language was no small task for human vocal cords. He’d had prosthetics installed in his throat to ensure they were up to the task.)

Rodan made a thrumming noise deep in his chest. It wasn’t a word; just a warning. Words would necessitate opening his beak and dropping Slade into an uncomfortably hot bath.

Slade pressed on: “Look, let me go and we’ll make a deal. What d’you like? Shiny things? Eh? I know people used to bring you gold as tribute. Buddy, I can get you enough gold to coat this entire mountain. I am one rich motherfucker.”

Slowly, the titan raised its head and rotated until Slade was dangling over dark rock instead of crispy death. Okay, that was an improvement.

“I’m having a nice cup of tea down here with two friendly ladies,” Wintergreen informed him cheerfully. “Do wish you could join us!”

Slade muttered a few choice words in Gaelic, one of the only languages he was sure Wintergreen didn’t speak.

Rodan set him down on the volcano’s slope and peered at him. Grumbling, Slade stood up and dusted himself off, smacking his head until the flames went out.

“Right, so, what’ll it be? My word is my bond. Minerals, meat, radioactive waste; whatever you want, I’ll make it happen.”

With an impatient huff, Rodan cawed, “Fight!”

“Pardon?”

“More fight, stabby-man! You, me, let’s go again! Now! Nownownow!”

He punctuated his words with an excited hop that sent tremors through the island. Wintergreen had probably spilled his tea. Good. 

Running a hand through his now-extinguished hair, Slade said, “Where’s my sword?”

“Er… ate it.”

He scowled. “You want me to fight you unarmed?”

“We’ll make a deal,” Rodan parroted, his eyes aglow with cunning. “You fight without your sword. I fight without my beak. Fun! Agreed?”

“Ah, fuck it, why not? Dukes up, Original Recipe.”


End file.
